


Ain't Nothing But a Number

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again sort of, Age Difference, Complaining Dean Winchester, Disapproving Family, F/F, Frustration, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Dean's unsolicited comment about your and Rowena's relationship pushes you over the edge.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Ain't Nothing But a Number

"Y/N, isn't…" Dean cleared his throat. Sucked in a breath, eyes roaming everywhere, far away from you. Then, in a moment of courage that made you freeze up for you knew — you _knew,_ and, gods, you hated it. You hated it with your entire being — what was to come, they locked with yours, and he said, "Isn't she a bit too old for you?"

You supposed you shouldn't have been surprised. Dean had never been Rowena's biggest fan. He hadn't been yours, either — you being a witch, her protégé at that, didn't win you any favors. But still.

But _still._

With Rowena's friendship with Sam, you thought the elder Winchester would be fonder of her. Just a tad. A teeny-tiny bit. That he would stop with the snide comments and start treating her — any, by extension, you — like a person.

Which he had, for a while, but now he was looking at her as if she'd just murdered an innocent person right in front of him and wiped her bloody hands on his shirt. All because you'd admitted to having recently started dating her.

Sam, for his part, had the decency to look uncomfortable by his brother's behavior. He'd reacted to the news well, breaking out a smile and congratulating you both. Heartily. Honestly. From the bottom of his heart.

Dean, on the other hand, had gone quiet.

If only he'd stayed quiet.

You'd learned a long time ago people who had nothing good to say had no qualms about saying it out loud and directly to your face. It was the same everywhere you went, with everyone you came across. Comments that, at first glance, came across as those of kindness, but the more you thought about them, you'd come to realize it was nothing but condescension masked as concern. Inappropriate, uncomfortable comments. Unacceptable. Out of line.

Comments about your relationship.

You were no fool; you knew what it looked like from the outside. An almost-four-hundred-year-old witch and a young girl. The witch who'd spent the majority of her life taking advantage of people, using them up until they were dry of whatever it was she needed and then tossing them aside like trash. Killing them without a shred of remorse. And now she was dating you.

Rowena had fully earned her reputation, a part of her still beaming with pride at her accomplishments, but it still wasn't okay. Neither of you needed advice, especially the unsolicited kind. No one knew what your relationship was like but the two of you. None of those people lived in your house, slept in your bed. What gave them the right to judge something they didn't — couldn't possibly — understand?

Worse than the comments were the looks that followed them. Pity. Doubt. Disgust. Minds no doubt imagining things — pictures — they had no right to think about. It always made you feel dirty, the way they would look at you; as if you were a child being taken advantage of by an older woman. A middle schooler seduced by her teacher, promised the world in exchange for intimacy.

That was all they saw. An old woman and a child. An abuser and a victim.

Not a single one of those busybodies stopped to consider your feelings and needs. Not a single one of them tried to look at you as you were — a woman, fully grown, capable of making her own decisions. A woman who'd chosen her path, who had fallen in love with one of the most powerful witches in the world and was lucky enough as to have her feelings returned. Who was raging — silently, inside herself — at every unwanted comment and sideways glance.

You glared at Dean with the intensity of a thousand suns, and it took willpower to push your bursting magic down, to restrain it for all it wanted was to roam free and destroy everything in its path. Destroy him for being just like everyone else despite everything he'd seen, everything he'd lived.

"Why the fuck do you care?" It came out harsher than it sounded in your head, but, gods, it felt good to say it, to let it out.

You were done keeping quiet.

You were done letting outsiders have an opinion about your relationship.

Dean flinched, startled by the outburst. He raised his hands in a placating manner. "I don't—"

"Why the fuck does _anyone_ care?" you cut him off, face burning, magic churning in your blood. "Is there a sign on my forehead saying _'I Wanna Hear Your Opinions About My Relationship?'"_

"Y/N—" Sam tried, to no avail. There were too many suppressed emotions. Too many words that begged to be left out, refusing to be silenced again.

"What is it with people who think I care about what they think? It's _my_ relationship! I'm the one dating her!"

You were the one holding her when she needed comfort. You were the one making her laugh. The one kissing her just for the fun of it, because you felt like it, because you _could —_ finally, after years of dreaming of it. The one holding her hand, playing with her hair, calling her cute names she would kill anyone else for daring to utter in her presence.

Rowena had chosen you, and you couldn't have been happier about it.

"I'm a grown woman!" you yelled. "Stop treating me like a fucking child! What I do is none of your business."

_Who I fuck is none of your business._

You'd said the same to your family, and to all the friends who turned their noses up upon finding out about you and Rowena. You were an adult. They had a right to their opinions, and you had a right to not hear them. They didn't have to like your decision — all you asked was that they respect it.

If they cared — truly, genuinely cared — about you, they would.

Dean sighed. Gulped. Cleared his throat. "I wasn't—I didn't mean it like that."

No one ever meant it. Whatever it was they said, however uncomfortable they looked as the revelation of you and Rowena set in, they never meant it. Not a single word, spoken clearly, was ever as it sounded. No — _you_ were exaggerating. You were making up drama where there wasn't any. Causing trouble because, well, you were young, too young to know better.

Too young to date a woman over three centuries your senior.

Right.

You shot Dean one of those looks that could kill if you wanted it to, stolen from Rowena. A glare so intense, you hoped it came across as intimidating as intended. "Then don't say it like that."

"I'm not gonna say anything anymore," he said, taking a swig of his beer.

"That's a first," Rowena quipped.

The hunter rolled his eyes.

Tension lifted from your shoulders. Muscles, taut and tight just a moment ago, free of the pressure. You breathed out in relief.

The worst had passed. The secret was out, words were exchanged, and now you could be at peace. You and Rowena no longer had to hide your linked hands. You no longer had to pull apart and pretend nothing had happened if someone were to walk in on an intimate moment.

You could be yourselves.

You could smile and laugh and be happy in this world rather than hide in its fringes.

The day passed in relative silence. As you and Rowena worked on research, flipping through dusty books and skimming words in faded ink, you caught the Winchesters sneaking a few glances, all averted the moment either of you looked up. It was more curiosity than disapproval; it wasn't always that their allies hooked up — and took it seriously, at that. It wasn't always that Rowena MacLeod, of all people, held someone's hand and laughed at their bad jokes.

It was new. It was weird. And, despite the initial shock, by the end of the day Dean seemed completely on board with it.

You were glad. Finally, you could breathe easily, without fearing judgment. Without fearing the next dirty look or wicked whispers the moment you turned your back.

Yes, Rowena was significantly older. No, she wasn't too old for you. She wasn't too evil, or too unreliable, or too cold-hearted to know what love, true love, was.

She was just perfect.

And you loved her for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
